


can't have peace without a war

by quinnking



Category: House of Cards (US TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-17
Updated: 2015-03-17
Packaged: 2018-03-18 06:28:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3559553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quinnking/pseuds/quinnking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank's thoughts on his wife since their university days up until the finale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	can't have peace without a war

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still iffy on this, but hey. Listen to Power & Control by Marina and the Diamonds. 
> 
> Spoilers for season 3!

_we give and take a little more, eternal game of tug of war._

  
__**I  
**  
When he first meets her, he knows she'll be the one he chooses to marry. Not only because she is the most beautiful woman he has ever laid eyes on (which is true, she is stunning, a light in his darkness), but because she is just as ambitious as he is. 

With a smile that will put anyone at ease it would never be known that someone cold and calculating is standing behind it. Behind those light blue eyes is something dark and ambiguous. 

He catches her smoking when she's supposed to be in the bathroom on their fourth date. He's just stepped out for some air when he sees her. She's wearing something designer, looking like she's just come out of a fashion catalog with the wind blowing in her hair. And then there's the cigarette in her hand. 

He can't help but ask, even though he knows he shouldn't, "can I steal a couple'a drags?" And she just looks at him in that unnerving way of hers, like she knows every thought going through his mind. 

She drops the cigarette and squashes it under her heel. "Smoking is a nasty habit, don't you agree?" 

He doesn't quite know what to say to that, and that's a first, and he opens and closes his mouth a few times before he catches the small smirk on her face.

"It's only a habit if it becomes a regular occurrence," he says as he steps closer to her. "Maybe just once in a while is okay." 

She smiles at him then, and rational thought leaves his mind.

__**II**  
  
He beds her that night. 

Well, to be more precise, it's more like she beds him.

She pushes him down on the bed after shucking off her dress, with a grace he will never understand; even as she's sitting atop his midsection, hair all tousled and lipstick all worn and around her mouth, she still looks elegant. 

He's never been on the bottom during sex, he's the one who usually takes charge. But as she unhooks her bra and maneuvers her panties down those long, long legs (and part of him so wishes she were underneath him, to feel those legs wrap around his waist, feel her arch against him).

He can't recall when she undid his belt but now she's pulling his pants down and when he arches up to help her get them off, he feels how wet she is (his mind gets so hazy then, even as she rolls his boxers don his legs and he kicks them off). 

She sinks down on him and all he thinks is that she's so tight and so wet, so beautiful and on top of him - he briefly wonders if he's dreaming. But her hands find their way to his chest and the only sound to be heard was the quickening of her breathing, until he does a particularly rough thrust upward and she moans sharply, throwing her head back.

Interesting, that's something he'll experiment with another time. 

She slides one of her hands down his torso, bringing it to where they're joined and she rubs at her clit in fast, jerky motions.

If Frank wasn't close before, he sure is now. Her teeth sink into her bottom lip as she comes with a tiny groan and a flutter of her hips, and she's clenching around him so tight, and then he's coming and he's so high up that he doesn't even feel her collapse on top of him.

He can't find it in him to move her, either, when she curls up beside him. Any other woman and he would have kicked her out as soon as he got his release. But she's the one.

_**III** _

She's wearing a light blue dress the night he proposed to her. 

"Claire, if all you want is happiness, say no. I'm not gonna give you a couple of kids and count the days until retirement. I promise you freedom from that; I promise you'll never be bored." 

She looks at him for a couple seconds before taking her hand without preamble and slipping the ring on her finger. 

"I didn't accept," she reminds him.

"You would have." 

He sees the tiniest quirk of her lips then and he knows he's right, and he knows he made the right choice - she's the only woman who is his equal, the only woman he would sacrifice anything for. Dangerous? Probably. Beneficial? Definitely. 

She kisses him, one of those sweet gentle ones, then she nuzzles her nose against his cheek."

"I love you, Francis."

This is the first time she's said it to him. He's said it to her, at first just to woo her, and then he realized that he truly felt this way about her. 

"I love you, too."

_**IV** _

  
She looks beautiful and angelic in white, with her dark hair in a sophisticated up-do and a veil hanging down her back. She looks, in every sense of the word, ethereal. 

They say their vows expertly and he doesn't miss the small smile before they're finally pronounced husband and wife, the ring sparkling in the light. He kisses her and hears the applause from their family and friends.

He leads her back the way they came, hand-in-hand. 

They fuck well into the morning, in an expensive suite near the airport before they can go on their five day honeymoon in Spain. Claire's always wanted to go to Europe.   
They spend most the five days scheming, looking at beautiful scenery (and he's looking at her), planning, fucking, and eating. He has to admit, he adores this woman, and he doesn't doubt for one moment that she is the right choice. 

Especially when he's running for congress years later (she dyes her hair from dark to blonde, it makes her look less harsh) and she's charming as ever. Flashing that winning smile and making her normally calculated blue eyes warm for the purpose of their audience - she's a natural, and with her by his side they'll be the king and the queen.

_**V** _

It's their last night as just Frank and Claire Underwood. For he knows Walker will resign, and he will become President. 

She lays on the bed, her heels digging into his ass, as she lets him fuck her. It's a victory, having this woman under him and being the most important man in the country. 

"What would I be without you?" he grunts, and she just smiles up at him. 

He counts his lucky stars and her nails scratch down the skin of his back.

_**VI** _

She's left him before. But never like this. He knows he fucked up, he's never ever laid a finger on her (that's why Iowa was such a surprise - he's not that man, he's supposed to make her feel safe). 

He hasn't heard from her in days. Weeks. He's reelected. Barely. He slides by and he knows it's because Claire wasn't by his side. If she were, it would have been a landslide.  
He misses the small things. Especially now as he exhales a puff of smoke from his cigarette. He misses the gentle looks, the touches, the glint in her eye as they schemed. The scolding if he doesn't exercise. The smile.

He puts his cigarette out. 

_"It's you who's not enough."_

He knows it to be true. Maybe he loves her just a bit too much, because in this profession, loving a woman like Claire as much as he does is dangerous. A man like him, ruthless and cruel, isn't supposed to have a soft spot. She's his.

_"I'm leaving you."_

He can't get the image of her walking away out of his head.

_**VII** _

Three days later, he gets a note in elegant script, and an envelope.

_Nothing._

_-C._

And he knows immediately what this means. 

She's served him divorce papers. 


End file.
